


Fade To Black

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Suicide Attempt, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4646847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Set Season 2, after Episode 1 "In My Time of Dying". John is dead, leaving both his sons grief-stricken and confused. They slowly make their way to Sioux Falls where Dean begins to heal with the help of Bobby and his beloved Impala. Sam, on the other hand, is silently spiralling into despair and he can only hang on for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for AlxM (aka AlexMeg) for her birthday.  
> Fanfic title and lyrics comes from Metallica's "Fade To Black".  
> Warning: Contains themes of suicide.

Life it seems to fade away,

Drifting further everyday

The brothers drove away from the hospital in silence. It seemed that all words had dried up as soon as the doctor had shaken his head and called John Winchester's time of death.

It just didn't make sense. Their father had been all right; he had been recovering from his injures, both those demon-inflicted and the results of the car accident.

Dean seemed extremely shocked by John's sudden passing. Sam had tried to talk to him back at the hospital, tried to find an explanation with his brother but Dean completely shut him out. He signed the necessary forms the doctor gave him and ignored his younger brother.

Sam bit his lip and stared at his hands laced together in his lap.

"It just doesn't make any sense," he muttered to himself.

Dean had been the one in danger; he had been in a coma and his doctor had not been optimistic. The physician had all but told Sam to prepare for the loss of his only sibling.

"Are you sure nothing strange happened?" Sam asked Dean, hoping his brother would answer.

Sam didn't know what had happened. Dean, although miraculously awake and on the mend hadn't been eager to talk about his experience as a ghost. What he had been impatient to do though, was speak to their father. Sam had tried to follow his older sibling, if only because Dean had just woken from an apparently irreversible coma, but his brother had slammed the door to John's room in his face. So Sam had decided to grab some coffee at the cafeteria and try not to feel too bad about Dean's shutting him out in such a rude way.

"I already told you I don't know," Dean snapped, "One minute I was a ghost and the next I was awake!"

Sam glanced wide-eyed at his brother, startled by the outburst, before dropping his gaze back to his hands.

It's my fault, Sam thought guiltily, I was too focused on Dean and I didn't see that Dad wasn't doing as well as the doctor thought.

If he had spent half as much time with John as he had spent trying to communicate with his phantom brother, Sam might have noticed something was wrong.

If he had been more careful on the road Sam would have seen that transport truck coming. John and Dean were already hurt badly and that accident just tipped the scale even more.

Sam's eyes suddenly felt hot and wet but he ignored them.

There was nothing he could do to make things right now. John was gone and he wasn't coming back. And it was all Sam's doing.

Getting lost within myself

Nothing matters, no one else

If you can't save your brother, you have to kill him.

John's final words played on an endless loop in Dean's head.

He really had no idea what the older man had been talking about but the words chilled Dean to the bone.

He was sure that his father's warning had something to do with the Yellow-Eyed Demon. But what that had to do with Sam, Dean could only guess at.

Dean wanted to talk about the demon with someone- anyone- except Sam.

He couldn't confide in his brother, not this time. He wasn't going to tell Sam about the bastard possessing that Reaper and he sure as hell wasn't going to relay John's last message to him either.

The young man's hands tightened on the steering wheel of the rental car they were forced to use until they arrived at Bobby's and Dean could start repairing the Impala.

What the fuck had John been thinking, giving Dean an order like that? How could he even think that Dean would ever hurt Sam?

And John dying, just like that? Well, Dean was damned if it didn't have something to do with the Yellow-Eyed Demon. He had heard about people- desperate or greedy people- making deals with demons but John Winchester? Never in a million years would John Henry Winchester make a deal with a demon- and certainly not the bastard who'd killed his wife- for anything.

But, the more Dean thought about the events leading up to his father's death, the more it started to sound like that was exactly what John had done. Traded his life for Dean's.

Why? Dean thought his father wanted to tear that piece of shit limb from limb and nothing was going to stop him.

Except for his critically injured son.

How could he do that? How could he leave Dean like that?

Dean wanted to punch something. He squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

SPN

Sam was a big fuck-up.

He couldn't seem to do anything right.

He couldn't do as John had ordered and shoot his father while the Yellow-Eyed Demon possessed the man.

He couldn't drive the Impala to the safety of a hospital.

He couldn't see that his father's life was in danger, even though the doctor had said John was recovering.

That wasn't even the worst of it though! Oh no, there was more…

Sam was a failure as a hunter.

He was a failure as a college student.

He couldn't even protect his girlfriend.

'Why is it that everyone close to you dies?' a voice in Sam's head asked.

It was true too. First it had been his mother, and then Jess and now his father was gone.

And… was all of that his fault?

'You knew about Jess's death for weeks before it happened and yet you said nothing,' the voice reminded Sam, 'You just ran off with Dean and left her all alone.'

I didn't know it was really going to happen! Sam thought, his heart aching at the fresh wave of sorrow that washed over him at the thought of his deceased girlfriend.

'You knew Dean could take care of himself,' the voice continued, 'Always has and always will. But you didn't care. You didn't even give your father a second thought, did you?'

He was in a coma! He wasn't waking up and Dad seemed okay, Sam tried to reason with the voice but to no avail.

'And your mother,' the voice mocked, 'if you hadn't been born, she would still be alive.'

I was just a baby, Sam argued silently, there was no way I could have done anything to stop her death.

But the damage was done. The seed of doubt was planted.

Everyone Sam loved died.

He sucked in a shaky breath and stared out the car's side window instead of at his hands.

Dean didn't notice his inner turmoil. He was too focused on the road ahead of them, it seemed.

I have lost the will to live

Simply nothing more to give

Sam picked listlessly at his salad while Dean munched steadily on his cheeseburger.

The older brother noticed his sibling was playing with his food but said nothing. Sam wasn't a baby and didn't to be told what to do. Besides, Dean had more important things to worry about then whether his twenty-three year old brother ate or not.

Now he had just one more reason to hunt down that Yellow-Eyed son of a bitch and put a bullet in his brain. He had killed their mother and their father. Dean wasn't going to let the bastard take away anyone else he loved.

He looked across the table at Sam and felt a piece of his burger stick painfully in his throat as he thought about losing his sibling.

Setting his unfinished cheeseburger on the plate, Dean dug his wallet from the pocket of his jeans and tossed some bills onto the table.

"C'mon Sam," he muttered, "Let's go."

His brother didn't complain; it wasn't like he had been eating his lunch anyway, and followed Dean out the door.

Once in the rental car, the eldest Winchester drove slowly. Bobby was expecting them but Dean didn't really want to see the grizzled hunter just then. He really just wanted to be alone. Even without his brother.

He decided he would drive until nightfall and then book a motel room. He was exhausted, drained both physically and emotionally. He was certain Sam felt the same.

They would get some rest and then regroup in the morning.

SPN

Sam dozed as Dean drove.

Nightmares plagued his sleeping mind however, preventing rest.

Over and over he relived the moment of John's death.

Over and over he walked down the same sterile hospital corridor, the scent of bleach strong in his nose, the fluorescent lights making every surface sharp, paper cup of coffee held casually in one hand.

Over and over he heard the shriek of monitors and his stroll slipped into a sprint.

Over and over he stood in the doorway to John's room, the heart monitor flat lining and screaming. He dropped his hot coffee onto the floor as he was propelled forward, even as the doctor and nurses rushed in after him.

Over and over the medical team attempted to defibrillate John and over and over, he remained motionless. Dead.

W

Sam opened his eyes and raked his bangs back from his brow.

He couldn't stop thinking about his father.

Could he have done something to save John?

He was sure there was. But he had been too late.

Sam closed his eyes as he recalled the look his brother had given him as he'd ran into the room.

This is your fault, that look said; you did this.

Little wonder Dean was barely speaking to him. He blamed Sam for their father's death.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered; his voice not audible over the sound of the rental car's engine.

SPN

This is my fault; Dean thought as he stared at his brother's stricken expression, I did this.

Sam's face had lost all colour as he appeared in the doorway to John's bedroom, mere moments after the older man had whispered in Dean's ear his final order.

Their father's doctor and a half-dozen nurses pushed past Sam and surrounded the bed, pressing both sons out of the circle that had formed around the hunter.

Dean's brain hardly registered what was happening, his father's words seemed to take up all room for thought.

He reached out and grabbed his brother's arm, keeping Sam by him.

He could hear his sibling talking- yelling- but the words were incoherent, whether from Sam's panic or from the fact that his brain seemed to refuse to focus on nothing but John's order, Dean didn't know.

Then, everything grew sharp and clear suddenly. The doctor looked up and called John Winchester's time of death, a nurse drew the blanket up over their father's face and the team left the room in somber single-file.

"Dad!" Sam exclaimed and pulled out of Dean's grasp.

Dean watched as his brother approached the bed and yanked the blanket down, gripped his father's shoulders and shook him.

"Sam!" Dean barked and grabbed his sibling's arm, pulling him away, "He's gone."

His brother stared into their father's face for a long moment before looking up at him. Sam's eyes, usually so bright and expressive, were dull and dark.

Sam stepped away from Dean and turned, walking through the doorway, leaving the older brother alone.

There is nothing more for me

Need the end to set me free

Dean sat a little taller in the driver's seat as they passed a bar on the way into the small, no-name town.

Good, he thought, I could use a drink. Or ten.

He pulled into the driveway of the first motel he saw; the Riverview, it was called though Dean saw no sign of a river at all.

Whatever, Dean shrugged; we're not here to enjoy the scenery.

Stopping in front of the office, the elder Winchester quickly procured a room key from the motel's octogenarian manager and drove to the parking spot reserved for the occupants of Rm. 9.

SPN

Sam dropped his duffel bag onto the bed furthest from the door and took in their most recent accommodations.

The carpet was dark blue and worn in the areas that had the greatest foot traffic. The walls were an institutional grey but prints of a ship- that looked a lot like the Titanic- and a lighthouse attempted to brighten the room. The covers on the beds were green and the sheets were a pale blue.

Dean sat his single piece of luggage on his chosen bed and turned to the door.

"I'm going out for a while," he commented without looking at Sam, "Don't wait up for me."

The younger man opened his mouth to speak; perhaps to ask Dean to stay with him but his brother was gone before any words came out.

Sam listened as the sound of the rental car's engine grew distant before sitting down on the edge of his bed and putting his head in his hands.

SPN

Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled out of motel parking lot.

He had only been in the room for a minute or two and he'd felt stifled.

Now, behind the wheel of a car- even though it wasn't his beloved Impala- and on his way to one of his favourite places- a bar- he felt somewhat better than he had since his father's death earlier that morning.

He was tired of mulling over John's order. He didn't want to think about it anymore- at least not today- and a few beers was certain to soften the blow both John's death and final words had dealt Dean.

He spied the bar they had passed on the way into town- a hole-in-the-wall kind of place called Tom Dooley's- and pulled into its bustling parking lot.

SPN

Sam sighed heavily and wiped a hand down his face. He stared despondently at the picture of the lighthouse over his bed that was supposed to soften the grey walls and make the room homier, not even realizing that tears were leaking down his cheeks and dripping from his jaw.

He had hoped not to feel this way for a long time. It was that same feeling that had blossomed in him when Jessica had died and now it had returned once again with a vengeance.

It felt as though a great, dark hole had opened up in Sam, sucking away any joy and spewing out guilt and sadness.

The young man barely registered the fact that his cell phone was ringing in his jacket pocket as he laid down across the bed, fully clothed and closed his eyes.

SPN

Dean didn't want any company, not tonight, despite the number of pretty young women in the bar- even though a more than half of them had turned their heads in his direction already and smiled at what they saw- and hunched over his beer bottle, taking up a booth by himself.

As he had thought, the alcohol had numbed him to the sorrow he felt at his father's death. It made his thoughts slippery as well, so that they could not get a foothold in his brain.

Dean took a large swallow of beer and motioned to a waitress for another one. Although not exactly happy- even alcohol couldn't do that for him- he at least felt content.

The bar played good music- classic Rock n' Roll- and it was warm and loud, full of frivolous people that also helped Dean take his mind of his loss. He could almost imagine he was just out enjoying a drink for the hell of it and that all was right with the world. Almost.

"Thanks," Dean muttered as the waitress returned with a fresh bottle of beer.

"Anything else I can get you?" she asked, snapping a wad of bright pink bubble gum against her tongue.

Dean shook his head and gulped down half of the icy beer in one long swallow.

SPN

Sam didn't know how long he'd been asleep. It could have been minutes or hours.

Dean was still out and now the motel room was dark. Sitting up slowly, Sam raked his bangs back from his brow and reached out to turn on the lamp sitting on the nightstand between the two beds.

Yellow light filled the room but did nothing to chase away the darkness residing in Sam.

Standing, the young man moved to the bathroom and closed the door. Turning on the light, Sam peered at his reflection in the mirror.

His face was pale and he had dark circles beneath his eyes as though he hadn't slept in days. He raised a hand to his chin and his fingers rasped against the beginnings of stubble.

Taking a plastic cup from the stack beside the sink, Sam filled it from the tap and took a long drink of water.

Setting the cup down, Sam gripped the edge of the counter with both hands as vertigo suddenly caused the world to tilt around him. Squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth, Sam counted to ten before daring to look around the room again.

This time the bathroom remained in place. Sam turned on the tap again and splashed some water onto his face.

Without drying off, Sam exited the bathroom, leaving the light on and sat down at the small desk in the corner of the room by the window. He pulled aside the curtain and peered out at the parking lot but there was no sign of his brother.

Don't wait up for me, Dean had said and Sam suddenly had the irrational fear that maybe his brother had left him.

But that didn't make sense, Sam told himself, his duffel's still here.

Shoulders sagging with relief, Sam released the curtain and leaned back in the chair, causing it to creak slightly in protest.

'Dean will leave you,' the voice spoke up, 'By hook or by crook, he'll leave you. Everyone has.'

Sam shook his head to try and clear his thoughts.

'You're dangerous. You're poisonous,' the voice kept on, 'And your taint will spread to Dean too.'

Sam stood up and clenched his fists.

"Shut up!" he snarled, "Dean's all right. He will be all right."

'But for how much longer?' the voice taunted.

The young man spun around, unsure of what to do. He knew that the voice was just in his head, that it was only a manifestation of his guilt over his father's death but it was difficult to ignore all the same.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to try and calm his nerves. He just needed a good night's sleep, that was all. It had been a trying day and the stress was really starting to get to him.

The youngest Winchester walked across the room to his bed and grabbed his duffel, unzipping it. He pawed through his clothes until he found what he was looking for: a bottle of over-the-counter sleeping aid pills he'd purchased when his nightmares about Jessica's fiery death had prevented him from resting peacefully. Sam had shoved them into the bottom of his bag once the bad dreams finally abated and all but forgot about them until now.

Twisting off the childproof lid, Sam shook one pill and then another one into his palm. He peered down at the small, white ovals in his hand for a long moment before adding two more, just for good measure.

Sam swallowed the quartet of pills without any water, replaced the lid on the bottle and shoved it to the bottom of his duffel again. Dropping his bag onto the floor at the end of his bed, Sam sat down and reached out, turning off the bedside lamp but ignored the bathroom light.

The young man laid down on top of bed- not bothering to pull the blankets over himself- and closed his eyes, drifting into unconsciousness.

Things not what they used to be

Missing one inside of me

Dean looked up as the bartender announced the last call. He didn't really want to leave. He didn't want to go back to the motel room and face Sam.

Instead, Dean stood, set a few bills on the table to pay for his drinks and left the bar before he ended up being the only one left inside besides the staff.

Even though everything was closed by now- it was four in the morning- Dean decided that a little cruise around town wouldn't hurt.

He wished he was behind the wheel of his baby instead of the stupid rental but beggars couldn't be choosers and he was happy he had a car at all.

Dean rolled down the driver's side window and drove slowly, enjoying the silence and solitude the town was bathed in at this wee hour of the morning.

W

Dean swore when he turned on the light inside the motel room and saw that Sam was sleeping.

His brother didn't wake however and Dean relaxed. At least he didn't have to face Sam's 'puppy eyes'.

Tugging off his boots, Dean nudged the door closed with his shoulder and stomped across the room to his bed, falling onto it belly-first, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

SPN

Sam blinked groggily as cheery morning light splashed across his face, nearly blinding him with its intensity.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he sat up and glanced at the bed closest to the door. Dean was lying on his stomach, arms beneath his pillow, face turned away from him, sawing logs.

Sam sighed and yawned. He squinted at the alarm clock on the nightstand between the beds and groaned.

It was ten thirty.

"Dean," Sam called, "Dean, wake up."

His brother grunted something unintelligible but continued to snore.

Standing, Sam crossed the short distance to his brother's bed and shook Dean's shoulder.

"Hey," he said quietly, "We've gotta get going."

Dean turned to peer blearily at him, haggard-faced and puffy-eyed.

"Bobby's expecting us," Sam reminded his brother quietly.

Dean sighed in an exasperated tone and sat up.

"I just woke up too," Sam told him but Dean glared daggers at him and stood, grabbing his boots from where he had left them the night before.

Sam watched as Dean shrugged into his coat and pulled the car keys from his pocket, snagging his duffel as he did so with his other hand.

"Well c'mon," Dean growled, "Bobby's expecting us, isn't that what you said?"

Sam's eyes widened slightly at the irritated tone of his brother voice but said nothing. Nodding instead, he grabbed his own duffel bag and slipped his shoes on.

"Do you want me to drive?" Sam asked as Dean heaved his bag into the trunk.

"No," Dean grouched.

"I can if you want," Sam pressed, "You look like He-"

"We all know what happens when you drive, Sam!" Dean snapped suddenly, "We meet the business end of a transport truck!"

Sam stared at his brother, shocked and hurt.

Dean slammed the trunk's lid down and stalked towards the driver's side.

Sam, head lowered in shame, went to the passenger's side and sat down in the seat.

SPN

Dean glanced at Sam from the corner of his eye and kicked himself for his uncalled for outburst. The accident hadn't been his fault. Not at all. Dean was sure that if he or John had been driving, the same thing would have happened.

"Sam," Dean said, trying to keep his tone soft, "Sammy-"

"Don't Dean," his brother interrupted his apology, however, and turned away from him to stare out the passenger window.

The older brother wanted to continue, wanted to force Sam to listen to his apology but he bit his tongue.

Turning the key in the ignition, Dean started the car and drove the short distance to the office to check out.

SPN

Sam tried not to let Dean see how much his words had hurt him. But they had, and badly. They cut like a knife and Sam felt that gaping hole inside him vomit even more guilt into the hollow cavity where his heart should have been.

He was a big fuck-up.

He was dangerous to everyone around him and right now it looked as though Dean didn't want him around.

What was he going to do? How could he make up for all the deaths he had caused?

I could leave, he thought, just take my stuff and disappear.

Dean would probably thank him if he did that. He wouldn't have his failure of a little brother to worry about any longer.

And Sam… he wouldn't have to see the blame in Dean's eyes every time he looked at him, wouldn't have to hear the accusation in every word Dean spoke to him.

Just go away, Sam thought, leave… and everything will be better…


	2. Chapter Two

Deathly lost, this can't be real

Cannot stand this hell I feel

Bobby had expected the brothers to be out of sorts when they arrived on his doorstep about mid-afternoon the day after their father had passed away.

But he wasn't expecting this.

Dean looked as though he'd spent the night trying to drown his grief in beer and Sam looked like any harsh words directed at him would see him bursting into tears.

Bobby knew losing a father wasn't easy for anyone but he was still shocked at the Winchesters attitude as they climbed the porch.

"Got yer car all ready, Dean," Bobby told the eldest brother, "So you can start workin' on her whenever yer ready."

Dean gave the grizzled hunter a half-hearted smile, "Thanks, Bobby."

"You two want beer?" Bobby asked as Dean and Sam stepped inside, dropping their duffel bags at the door, "Or something stronger?"

"I could use a drink," Dean said but Sam shook his head, "I'm kind of tired, Bobby. I think I'll just go upstairs fro a while."

Bobby peered concernedly at the young man. Sam's face was pale and unshaven; he had dark circles beneath his eyes as well.

The veteran hunter nodded, "You take as long as you need to, Son."

Sam bobbed his head once, picked up his duffel and plodded up the creaky staircase. Both Bobby and Dean remained silent as they listened to the door of the guest bedroom close behind the young man.

"How about that beer?" Dean asked, focusing Bobby's attention on him once again.

The older man nodded and made his way to the kitchen, pulling two bottles of beer from his ancient refrigerator.

Tossing the cap to his beer onto the counter, Bobby took a seat at the table and looked at Dean as the younger man had a long drink of alcohol.

"You up to telling me what happened?" the grizzled hunter asked and Dean lowered his bottle, peering at him.

"Dad died," the younger man answered carefully, "His doctor said it probably had something to do with the accident."

Bobby took a drink of his beer.

"Wanna tell me the truth?"

Dean stared at him.

"Don't look so shocked," the veteran hunter said, "Sam called me while you were indisposed to tell me what was going on. You were wanderin' around the hospital as a ghostie and yer Daddy was on the mend as far as anyone could tell."

The young man's lips thinned.

"If I tell you," he began seriously, "You have to promise, and I mean swear it, that you won't tell Sammy what I'm going to tell you."

Bobby leaned forward, elbows on the table, "What is it, Son?"

"I think it was the Yellow-Eyed Demon that killed Dad."

SPN

Sam dropped his duffel bag on the bed furthest from the door- a habit that was impossible to break, it seemed- and sat down. He had half been hoping that once he and Dean arrived at Bobby's that he'd begin feeling better. Sam's hopes were dashed, however.

Sighing, Sam stood and moved to stare out the window that offered a good view of the overgrown backyard. Bowing his head, Sam rested his brow against the cool glass of the window and closed his eyes.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to leave. But he didn't have much of a choice. He couldn't stand Dean's accusatory looks and tone. Dean didn't want him around; that was clear. Dean blamed him for their father's death.

Sam just felt cowardly. He was going to run away, just like he always did.

"I guess that's all I'm good for," he muttered, "Hurting people and then running away."

He had rarely felt so lost in his life.

Dean was the only family member he had left and he didn't want to leave him. Maybe… just maybe Dean would forgive him eventually.

Not likely, Sam thought, not with Dean's legendary ability to hold a grudge almost as long as Dad can- could- I'll be a senior citizen before he finally looks at me like his little brother again.

With that thought, Sam's lip trembled and tears welled up in his eyes. He didn't want Dean to hate him, not now; he wanted to be Dean's brother again. He needed his older sibling in this hour of loss.

But Sam was alone.

SPN

Bobby's eyebrows rose in shock and he gaped at Dean.

"Are you certain that's what happened?"

The young man nodded, "That bastard kind of… I don't know… possessed the Reaper I guess and forced her to bring me back."

"An' you think yer father had something to do with that?" Bobby continued.

"Yeah," Dean said, "I mean, I'm pretty sure. How else would I be standing here right now? I think Dad made a deal with that son of a bitch. I think Dad knew I wasn't going to make it and so he sold his soul for me."

The grizzled hunter shook his head and took his baseball cap off, scratching at his thinning reddish hair.

"Why would he do that?" Dean asked, "Dad has been hunting the Yellow-Eyed Demon for years and to just let that go… to give into that asshole now…"

Bobby sighed, "I ain't gonna act like I understand what was going on in yer Daddy's head. He told me a bit about that demon but not everything. Hunters never do."

Dean nodded. Not even Bobby told his story in full detail. All the young man knew was that Bobby's wife, Karen, had been possessed by a demon and had died shortly afterwards. The details of which were kept from him.

"It's clear that John did care about you," Bobby said, "A great, great deal to do something like that."

Dean bit his lip, his eyes suddenly pricking with tears.

"There was something he told me," Dean whispered hesitantly, "Before he died that… I think might also be part of the reason he did what he did."

Bobby waited patiently for the young man to continue.

"He said that if I couldn't save Sammy, that I'd… that I'd have to kill him."

Dean looked up and Bobby drew in a sharp breath, stunned.

"I don't know what it means for sure," Dean continued, "But I have a feeling it has to do with the demon."

That's just like Johnny Winchester, Bobby thought bitterly before he could stop himself, shirking his responsibly and laying it on his son's shoulders instead.

"Does that make any sense?" Dean asked, his tone desperate, "What am I supposed to save Sam from? And how can I kill him. He's my brother."

Bobby shook his head, "I don't know about that, son. But what I do know, is that yer Daddy was wrong to put that burden on you. That just ain't right."

Dean didn't look satisfied. He still needed some kind of answer.

"I guess only time will tell," he told the young man, "We'll have to keep our eyes and ears open."

Dean looked slightly better for Bobby's words, whatever event John's words had foretold, it could be weeks, months or even years in the future, "And make sure Sammy's safe."

"Right," Bobby agreed, "Keep yer brother safe."

Emptiness is filling me

To the point of agony

Dean ran a gentle hand over the Impala's crumpled hood.

"Oh Baby," he murmured to the classic Chevy, "Look at you."

Although his beloved car wasn't completely destroyed, the damage to the Impala made a lump form in his throat.

"Don't worry girl," he continued thickly, "I'll fix you up, good as new."

At least this was something he could fix. Sam had been quiet and sad since arriving at Bobby's and even though Dean himself wasn't in the best of moods either, he at least hadn't shut himself away in the guest bedroom all afternoon.

SPN

Bobby raised a hand and rapped his knuckles lightly against the door of the guest bedroom.

"Sam?" he called quietly in case the young man was resting, "Are you awake, Son?"

There was no answer from beyond the door. The veteran hunter waited for a minute before deciding to leave well enough alone and headed downstairs.

Deciding to check on the Sam's brother, Bobby peered out the kitchen window and saw Dean bending over the Chevy, examining her injuries.

Sighing, Bobby turned away and took a seat at the table.

What was he going to do with those boys?

SPN

Sam stared blankly at the wall across from his bed. He lay on his side on his bed, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs.

His stomach hurt.

He knew it wasn't anything he ate; he hadn't eaten anything since before his father's passing yesterday morning.

It was the guilt. That's what it was.

Sam closed his eyes and groaned miserably.

He wished the pain would go away.

Suddenly, Sam's eyes snapped open and he jumped from the bed. Placing a hand over his mouth, Sam gagged and ran to the door.

He bolted down the hallway and into the bathroom the guest and master bedrooms shared. Cracking his knees against the floor as he dropped in front of the toilet, Sam barely had time to open the lid before the meager contents of his stomach came back up.

"Sam?" a voice called from somewhere behind him but the young man barely heard it, the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears was too loud.

"Sam? Son, are you alright?" Bobby's voice asked and the younger man felt a calloused hand land on his shoulder.

Sam lifted his head and wiped a hand across his mouth. Bobby peered down at him with a worried expression on his weathered face.

"When was the last time you ate?" the veteran hunter asked.

Sam shrugged; he couldn't feel less like eating. His stomach felt as though it had just been turned inside out and the pulsing in his head was beginning to form a headache.

"C'mon," Bobby murmured, "I'll make you something."

Sam stood shakily, "You really don't have to do that-"

Bobby's grey eyes were sharp, "Humour me, would you?"

Sighing, Sam nodded and followed the grizzled hunter downstairs.

"Did you get any rest?" Bobby asked and Sam raised one shoulder in a noncommittal gesture.

"This feeling won't last forever, Son," the older man said seriously, "It gets better. Believe me."

Sam nodded and sat down at the kitchen table while Bobby pottered around.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"Outside," Bobby answered, his back to Sam, "Working on that Impala."

Sam wrapped his arms around his middle as the pain in his abused stomach seemed to spread and become hotter, sharper, no longer the discomfort of a cramped muscle but a livid wound.

Growing darkness taking dawn

I was me, but now he's gone

Sam stared at the Impala surrounded by a halo of orange light of sunset.

He and Bobby were sitting on the porch steps while Dean worked on the car. He wanted to get it fixed as soon as possible, which meant working until nightfall, apparently.

"How you feeling?" Bobby asked Sam quietly and the younger man shrugged.

"Better," he lied.

Dean hadn't said anything to him- hadn't even looked at him- when he'd sat on the creaky porch steps with Bobby ten minutes earlier and that only made Sam feel worse.

"Another twenty minutes or so, Dean," Bobby called to the elder Winchester, "And you'll have to stop that."

Dean muttered something but Sam didn't hear what it was. He was probably saying that he'd grab a flashlight and work on his car in pitch black if he had to.

Sam sighed and his gaze slid away from his brother.

Dean would not even notice if he walked out.

'You can leave but you'll still feel this way,' the voice spoke up and Sam cringed.

'Sure, you won't have to face Dean but you'll still have to live with yourself,' the voice continued, 'And know that your father's dead- that your mother and girlfriend are dead- because of you.'

What do I do then? Sam wondered.

SPN

"Sam!" Dean snapped, finally gaining his sibling's attention. It was around nine at night- the world outside dark and mysterious- but Dean wasn't ready to turn in, as Sam seemed to be. So, instead of pulling on the jogging pants and t-shirt he always wore to bed, he attempted to get Sam to focus on him so he could talk to the younger man. A task which proved difficult.

His younger brother looked over at him but there was something wrong; Dean could see it in his brother's face, in his eyes.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked, concernedly.

"Yeah," Sam muttered and Dean frowned.

"SAM!" he shouted and his brother jumped.

"I'm just tired, Dean," Sam replied, looking hurt and turned away from him.

The older brother opened his mouth to call his sibling's name again but decided against it. Maybe Sam was just tired, as he said. He, unlike Dean, didn't have a project to keep his mind occupied- off thoughts of their father.

"Okay," Dean said quietly, "Well, I'll be downstairs for a while."

Sam didn't reply.

Dean left the bedroom and headed down to the living room. He found Bobby sitting at his desk, lamp casting a warm yellow glow across the pages of an old book he was reading.

"Does Sam seem a bit weird to you?" Dean asked the grizzled hunter.

Bobby looked up, "Weird how?"

Dean shrugged, "He's acting like he's been drugged or something. Kind of distant."

"Grief affects everyone differently, Dean," the veteran hunter told him, "I'm sure that in a few days he'll snap out of it."

Dean nodded somewhat distractedly.

"He's just… not himself and its creeping me out…" he commented, "It's even worse than when his girlfriend died."

Bobby's lips pursed, "All I can suggest is try and talk to him. Let him know he's not going through this on his own."

Dean grimaced but nodded. Sam hadn't wanted to talk about Jessica's death when that had happened so he wasn't sure his brother would be too keen on discussing their father's passing with him either.

"Okay," Dean said aloud, "I will. Tomorrow. Right now I just want to chill and take in some mindless television."

He took a seat on the grizzled hunter's saggy brown couch and turned on the TV, finding an old action movie he'd seen a thousand times but watched because he didn't want to think about anything else that evening.

No one but me can save myself, but it's too late

Now I can't think, think why should I even try

Sam lay awake, agonizing over what he should do. Dean was in the bed next to his, fast asleep.

Can't I talk to him? Sam thought, he's Dean, my big brother.

I could always talk to Dean about anything.

But then Sam recalled Dean's accusing glare when he'd ran into their father's room at the hospital for the last time, imagined Dean rolling over and telling him to shut the fuck up and go back to sleep.

I have to leave. I will leave; Sam decided and sat up, grabbing his duffel bag from beside his bed.

He quietly crossed the bedroom, pausing when Dean grunted loudly and rolled over in his sleep to face the door. Sam held his breath and only let it out once Dean was snoring regularly again.

Sam stepped out into the hallway and headed towards the staircase.

Before he knew it, Sam was out the door and standing on Bobby's porch.

Where will I go? Sam thought.

His gaze swept over the Salvage Yard, landing on the Impala for a moment before continuing until Sam spied the rental car.

But he didn't have the key for it.

Thinking, Sam recalled that Bobby usually had a car in the garage. There might be a key there.

Slowly, Sam stepped down from the porch and crossed the driveway, looking over his shoulder as though Dean was about to appear in the doorway, asking him what he thought he was doing?

The garage door screeched when Sam pulled it open but no lights appeared in the house so he continued. Inside was a black 1978 TransAm. Sam closed the garage door and approached the car in the dark.

The door was open and he sat in the driver's seat while he searched for the keys, tossing his duffel onto the passenger's seat. He pulled down one of the shades and the keys fell onto his lap.

Sam started the ignition and the garage was flooded with light as the car's headlights and taillights came on.

The radio started up, blasting a song that Sam instantly recognized from his days at Stanford.

'Last Resort,' by Papa Roach was silenced quickly and Sam sat back, closing his eyes.

Even if I leave, drive across the country, I'll still feel like this, Sam realized.

It's me. It's not going to go away if I leave Dean. But I have to do something. I have to leave. I have to leave.

Sam opened his eyes and stared out the windshield of the TransAm for a long time.

This is best for everybody, Sam thought; I'll be protecting Dean.

Sam got out of the car and stared around the garage, searching. He thought he wouldn't find what he was looking for- and maybe that'd be a sign that he should give up- but then he saw it.

Sam didn't know what Bobby was using the black hose for but he knew what he'd use it for.

He was a failure at everything, he was dangerous but he could make up for that if he was gone.

Sam crouched down at the back of the old car and shoved one end of the hose into the exhaust pipe. Once that was finished, Sam stared at it for a moment, thinking.

This is the best way.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam whispered, "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry I wasn't a better brother."

Standing up and wiping a hand across his face- startled when his fingers came away wet- and closed the opposite end of the hose in the right-side door TransAm's backseat.

Walking around the car and opening the left door, Sam climbed into the back. Reaching between the two front seats, the young man pushed down the locking mechanisms on both windows before sitting back.

I can do this, I can. It'll be so easy. I'll just fall asleep.

Sam settled down on his back on the bench seat, his shoulders pressed against one door and his feet pressed against the other.

Sam closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally. Everything was going to be all right, he was going to make up for everything.

Yesterday seems as though it never existed

Death greets me warm, now I will just say goodbye

Dean opened his eyes and instantly knew something wasn't right.

Whether it was his 'big brother' senses tingling or the fact that he had grown accustomed to the sound of Sam's breathing, even while he himself was asleep, Dean knew his sibling wasn't in the room.

Probably went to the can, Dean thought and closed his eyes again.

But that niggling feeling refused to go away, and as the seconds passed, it became stronger and stronger.

Sighing in exasperation, Dean sat up and looked around the room.

The first thing he noticed was that Sam's duffel was gone. The second thing he noticed was a faint rumbling sound.

What the hell was that?

Dean got up and stepped out into the hall. That rumble seemed so familiar but the eldest Winchester could not put his finger on what it was exactly.

Peering down the hall, Dean saw that the bathroom was dark. So Sam wasn't relieving himself after all.

I think that's coming from outside, Dean thought made his way down the stairs.

Heart beginning to pound, Dean headed towards the front door and peered outside.

At first he didn't see anything but then he noticed light was shining against some of the junk cars in the yard- a light that was coming from the direction of Bobby's garage.

"Sam?" Dean called and ran outside, ran towards the light, "Sammy!"

Gravel and bits of metal cut into Dean's bare feet but he barely noticed as he crossed the driveway and shoved open the squeaky metal doors of the garage.

"SAM!"

The car inside was running but there appeared to be no one inside. Where was Sam?

"Sammy!" Dean called and his eyes widened in horror as he caught sight of his brother's shaggy chestnut hair pressed against the back window.

"Shit!" Dean swore and rushed to the car. He grabbed the handle but it didn't budge an inch when he tried to pull the door open.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean cried and glanced around, for something to help him open the door.

Dean hurried to the workbench and grabbed a wrench, his gaze taking in the black hose running from the exhaust pipe to one of the TransAm's doors, and smashed the window Sam's feet were resting against.

Ignoring the glass, Dean reached in and unlocked the door, calling his brother's name as he did so.

"Sam! Sammy! Sam!" Dean climbed into the backseat and shook his sibling's shoulders.

There was no response. In the glow of the overhead light from the car, Dean noticed Sam's skin was very pale, almost grey, and his lips were tinged blue.

"No," Dean growled, "No you don't. C'mon! C'mon Sam!"

Dean grabbed Sam's head, fingers tangling in his hair and pressed his brother's face against his chest.

"Sammy," Dean murmured desperately, "C'mon man, wake up. Wake up!"

I need to get him out of here, Dean thought and began backing out of the car, dragging Sam along with him.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean muttered, even though his brother didn't hear him, "C'mon. It'll be okay, I'm gonna look after you."

Once Dean was out of the TransAm again and Sam was half-out, his lower half sagging against the edge of the seat, the older brother grabbed the younger beneath his shoulders and began dragging him out of the garage.

"Bobby! BOBBY!" Dean called as he stepped quickly out into the driveway, tears streaking down his face.

"Bobby!" Dean cried, his voice cracking because oh god oh god he was supposed to keep sammy safe and sammy wasn't safe sammy had tried to kill himself he might already be dead oh god where was bobby.

"BOBBY!"

W

Dean sat in the uncomfortable brown plastic waiting room chair, hands clasped between his knees, heart heavy.

He had managed to make enough noise to rouse the grizzled hunter and Bobby looked as though he was going to faint at the sight that greeted him when he stepped out onto his front porch.

Barely pausing to throw on his shoes, Bobby had grabbed the keys to one of his cars and made a beeline to Sioux Falls General with the Winchester brothers.

Dean had been forced to say that his brother had tried to kill himself- how else would he explain the carbon monoxide poisoning, especially when neither he nor Bobby displayed symptoms? No, it couldn't have been a household accident.

Dean didn't know what the doctors were going to do with Sam but Bobby had told him they'd probably put him on a 24-hour watch, maybe get someone to come in and talk to the younger Winchester.

Dean didn't like the idea of some mental health doctor coming in to talk to his brother- he could talk to Sam himself- because it made him nervous.

"What if they think Sam's crazy or something?" Dean had asked Bobby because he was the only person he could ask.

"I'm sure everything will be alright," Bobby told him but he looked as anxious as Dean did.

W

"Family of Samuel Winchester?" a tiny, red-haired nurse called and Dean stood up instantly.

"Is he okay?" the older brother asked because he'd been given no news of Sam for hours, not sure if he'd managed to get to his sibling in time.

The small nurse nodded, lips a thin, grim line. She told him that Sam was on a twenty-four hour watch- which was protocol for these situations- and that a counselor was going to come in to talk to him later that day, just as Bobby had said.

"Can we see him?" Dean asked hesitantly because maybe they didn't want family members seeing suicidal patients so soon.

The nurse nodded, "Come this way."

Bobby reached out and squeezed Dean's shoulder as they followed the nurse.

W

Sam's room was on the ground floor of the hospital. Dean wondered if that had something to do with the fact that his brother had tried to kill himself but he didn't ask.

The nurse showed them the room and Dean peered inside.

Sam didn't look like Dean expected he would. Dean didn't know what he expected Sam to look like. What Sam looked like was tired, exhausted really, and sad.

"Sammy?" Dean said and his brother looked up, eyes widening.

"Dean, I'm-" Sam was interrupted when Dean raised a hand.

Dean stepped into the room but said nothing for a long minute.

He knew Bobby had been beside him in the hallway but now he was alone. The older man was giving the brothers some privacy. Bless him.

"Sammy," Dean said and sat down on the chair reserved for visitors.

Sam had an IV line running to a needle inserted into the inside of his elbow, giving him fluids and a white, laminated bracelet. He was wearing a blue hospital gown.

"Sam…" Dean began but paused, "I just… I want… Why? Why did you do it? What were you thinking?"

Sam lowered his head, shamed.

"No," Dean said, "No, Sammy, look at me."

Sam raised his chin, his eyes swimming.

"Dean… I…" Sam began but then he became choked up.

Dean's hands clenched into fists and he resisted the urge to grab his brother and shake him. Sam was not going to give him the 'puppy eyes' and weasel out of this one. No fucking way.

Dean peered over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps approaching the room and saw a short-squat man in a white lab coat in the doorway.

"Are you Sam's doctor?" he asked and the man nodded, "I am. Dr. Schmitt."

Dean stood and peered at his sibling, "We'll talk later."

He left the room really feeling no better than he had upon entering it.

SPN

Sam refused to meet the counselor's eyes. He fiddled with the edge of the hospital blanket and felt extremely vulnerable.

"Sam," the woman said in a gentle tone, "I'm not here to judge you. I just want to know why you felt as though killing yourself was something you needed to do."

Sam shrugged. He didn't think he'd be able to explain the way he was feeling- the great empty maw in his center was still there- to anyone, even a doctor.

"Has something happened recently in your life? Something negative?" the woman pressed.

Sam still refused to speak.

"Sam," the counselor said, "I'm here to help you."

"No one can help me," he whispered.

SPN

"Can we take Sam home soon or does he have to stay here?" Dean asked Dr. Schmitt nervously.

The doctor frowned, "He completely ignored the counselor I sent and I'm thinking that he'll have to take a-"

Before the man could continue, Dean spoke, "What if I get him to talk? About everything. If I do that can Sam come home with me?"

Dr. Schmitt rubbed his chin, thinking, "Well, it's rather unorthodox… but I want what's best for all my patients, your brother included. Tell you what, if you can get Sam to agree to speak with the counselor, I'll write off his previous behaviour, give him a clean slate, as it were."

Dean blinked, shocked.

"Really?" he asked and the doctor nodded.

"Yes," Dr. Schmitt assured him.

Dean couldn't help but smile despite the circumstances.

W

This time Bobby accompanied Dean to Sam's room.

Dean sat again in the visitor's chair and the grizzled hunter stood beside him, trying not to loom over the youngest Winchester.

"Sammy," Dean began quietly, "Just tell me, man."

Sam didn't want to look at Dean, that much was clear, but something drew the younger sibling's eyes towards his brother's face.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he apologized, his voice barely audible, "I'm sorry about Dad."

"Yeah, me too," Dean agreed.

Sam continued to stare at him for a long moment.

"I should have stayed with him," he said, "I should have been there with him before he…"

Dean felt tears pricking at his eyes but he quickly blinked them away.

"You didn't know," Dean told him, "You didn't know that was going to happen."

"Neither did the doctors, Dean," Sam replied, "They said he was getting better."

Dean frowned; now was not the time to reveal the real reason for their father's death.

"It's my fault," Sam lamented, "It's always been my fault."

Dean's frown deepened and turned to one of confusion.

"What do you mean, Son?" Bobby asked from beside Dean.

"Jessica… and Dad… and Mom… I killed them all," Sam whispered, "It's me. Everyone around me dies."

"No," Dean reached forward and touched Sam's hand but his brother drew away, "That wasn't your fault. Not any of it. Is that… Is that what's been bothering you? You thought it was your fault Dad died?"

Sam nodded, "I was too concerned about you and I didn't… I didn't even get to say goodbye!"

Dean reached forward again wrapped his arms around his brother's shoulders, this time Sam didn't draw away.

"I th-thought you h-hated me," Sam confessed, his voice muffled, "That you bl-blamed me for D-Dad."

Dean's only reply was to squeeze his brother even harder.

"I just… I feel so b-bad… and I d-don't know how to m-make it stop."

"It'll be okay, Sammy," Dean told him, "It will."

Sam shook his head, "I d-don't want to lose you, Dean."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," Dean assured his brother, "I'm staying right here. With you. Always."

SPN

Sam took a sip of his Coca-Cola as he watched Dean work on repairing the Impala.

His older brother turned and looked at him.

"You want to help?"

Sam hesitated for a moment before standing, "Sure? What can I do?"

Dean grinned and held out a socket wrench, "C'mere, let me show you."


End file.
